


my darling, my absolute idiot

by HallowedWren



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst?, Author doesnt know how to tag, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Probably ooc, Song fic?, The Mountain (TM), You Have Been Warned, lots of coughing up blood, no beta we die like renfri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedWren/pseuds/HallowedWren
Summary: "He could either stay away from Geralt and somehow convince himself to fall out of love with the kindhearted Witcher, or stay and die a slow, painful death.It wasn’t even a choice."--This is the happy ending. If you enjoy pain, I've also posted a version where *cough* spoilers *cough* Jaskier dies
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 295





	my darling, my absolute idiot

**Author's Note:**

> not quite sure how angst-y this is. hopefully i did well  
> all mistakes are mine
> 
> song is "you gotta die sometime" from the musical Falsettos, with one (1) liberty taken
> 
> (just an fyi, the two versions of this fic are not identical, there are some changes before the split in directions)  
> ((also the flowers are Persain buttercups))

Jaskier hummed to himself as he brewed his nightly cup of tea. Disgusting stuff, this miracle shit. White tea with peppermint, honey, and an assortment of other ingredients that Jaskier had to blow his hard-earned coin on. But of course, it was unnecessary to find a concoction that actually tasted—well, he couldn’t ask for it to taste _good_ , but at the very least, they could make a mixture that didn’t leave a grimy, bitter taste even hours later. He _would_ say it’s the lesser of two evils but, well. We all know how Geralt feels about _that_.

Hanahaki’s a bitch, but it’s a manageable bitch.

Jaskier honestly didn’t know how he’d kept his condition from Geralt this long. Guess it’s just evidence of how oblivious to some things even a fully trained Witcher could be.

It had begun with a sore throat, and he’d just assumed it was a bug or he’d overworked his voice. Annoying, but he’d be fine with a couple days of vocal rest.

Then he coughed up the first petal.

He’d stared at the yellow blob in his palm for nearly a full minute before its meaning actually sunk in.

He could either stay away from Geralt and somehow convince himself to fall out of love with the kindhearted Witcher, or stay and die a slow and painful death.

It wasn’t even a choice.

Some would call him stupid. His friends did, actually. They called him… what was it? “a literally lovesick, hopeless dumbass.”

He didn’t care.

Then came the pain. And the blood. More and more petals, then the bulbs.

When he started pulling out near-full blooms, he knew his time was coming.

Geralt may never love _him_ romantically, but the witcher still deserved to _be_ loved. Since it seemed no one else was up to the task, Jaskier was happy to take up this burden. For as long as he could, Jaskier would love him.

He didn’t think about the possibility that Geralt might not want his love.

He came down the mountain stumbling and wheezing.

Geralt had rejected him before, but always in smaller, less permanent, less _explicit_ ways. It was always just leaving him behind at inns, insults, and physically pushing him away. He’d thought them jokes at the time (well, maybe not being left behind, but Geralt hadn’t done that for over a decade and a half now). But after the first flower, Jaskier finally put together that there was no way Geralt could feel anything for him but annoyance and frustration.

Suddenly, after every small—but by no means insignificant—rejection, the Hanahaki would flare up, progressing faster than it would have otherwise. He’d spend a few days bedridden, coughing up flowers that had already moved onto the next stage in their growth. Geralt had just accepted whatever meager excuse he came up with without any follow-up.

Each time, the disease spiked in intensity, then receded to the usual pace. Each time, he adapted.

And each time, he came back to Geralt. He couldn’t stay, away even though his life literally depended on it.

He didn’t _want_ to stay away.

But it seems he’d been given no choice.

Jaskier tripped only a few steps after leaving the path at the base of the mountain, scraping up his knees and palms.

A sharp fire burned his lungs and throat at every raspy cough, but he physically could not hold them back. He absently noted the drops of blood and spit coating his lips and the dirt beneath him. After two full minutes of powerful coughs that shook his entire body, he was able to reach down his throat far enough to pull out two fully bloomed buttercup flowers.

He spared a moment to thank the gods that Hanahaki only caused the _heads_ of flowers to grow in the victim’s lungs, not the stems as well. Pity the poor bastard who’d end up literally tearing their throat apart from the inside out with thorny roses.

Jaskier staggered to his feet, stumbling from tree to tree for support. He had to stop to hack up more flowers once more, before he came across a fallen log.

Dropping heavily onto the ground for the last time, he wiped his bloodied hands on his trousers, and cradled his lute to his chest, resting on his uncomfortable deathbed—death-seat? well, doesn’t really matter.

Finally, he allowed himself to cry. For the world he’d soon have to leave, for his witcher who might never know—or even care—what happened to him. For his own stupid heart, who insisted on falling in love with someone who wouldn’t want to love him back even if he could. (That’s not to say witchers can’t love, absolutely not! But in all their time together, Jaskier had only ever seen Geralt take women into his bed. He’d never shown a shred of interest in men. At least, that way, Jaskier could ~~try to~~ convince himself that he simply wasn’t the correct gender. That if only he were a woman- no. Best not go down that road.)

Even as he sat here, slumped against a tree like the town drunk, Jaskier took care to not let his blood stain his beloved lute. Really, there wasn’t a reason to care, since he’d be dead within an hour or two. But could you blame him? He wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for “reasonable” thoughts.

His every breath rattled and wheezed, but inspiration struck, and he might as well sing one last song before he left to the next plane of existence. His fingers were slow to change chords, but that was alright, he was hearing a slow melody, anyway.

_Oh-kay_

_When the doctor started using phrases like_

_“you’ll pass away,”_

_what could I say?_

_I said, “Doctor,_

_in plain Common,_

_tell me why was I chosen,_

_why me, of all men?_

_“Doctor, here’s the good part._

_At least death means I’ll never be scared about dying_

_again.”_

_Let’s get on with living while we can_

_and not play dumb._

_Death’s gonna come._

_When it does, screw the nerves!_

_I’ll be eating hors d’oeuvres._

_It’s the roll of the dice and no crime._

_You gotta die_

_sometime._

His breath failed him on the low note, and he had to pause to hack and spit to his side.

Ignoring the burning pain, he continued singing.

_Death is not a friend,_

_but I hope in the end_

_he takes me in his arms and lets me hold his face._

_He holds me in his arms and whispers something_

_funny._

_He lifts me in his arms and tells me to embrace_

_his attack!_

_Then the scene turns to black._

Jaskier had to stop more often now, but by the gods he was going to finish this last fucking song.

_Life sucks._

_People always hate a loser_

_and they hate lame ducks._

_Screw me and, shucks!_

_That’s it!_

_That’s the ballgame!_

_I don’t smoke, don’t do drugs,_

_and then comes the bad news._

_I quit!_

_That’s the ballgame._

_It’s the chink in the armor,_

_the shit in the karma,_

_the blues._

_Can I keep my cool despite the urge_

_to fall apart?_

_How should I start?_

_I would cry if I could!_

_But it does no damn good_

_to explain I’m a man in my prime._

_You gotta die_

_sometime._

Every line was a struggle. Jaskier was feeling lightheaded, now. That’s alright. He’s almost done, anyway.

_Death’s a funny pal_

_with a weird sort of talent._

_He puts his arms around my neck_

_and walks me to the bed._

_He pins me up against the wall_

_and kisses me like crazy._

_The many stupid things I thought about with dread_

_now delight!_

_Then the scene turns to white._

His vision began to pulse, black spots dancing in time with the weak strums on his lute.

_Give me the balls to orchestrate a graceful leave._

_That’s my reprieve,_

_to go out_

_without care,_

_my head high in the air!_

_It’s the last little mountain I’ll climb_

Jaskier spit the word— _mountain_ —like it was venom.

It might as well have been.

_I’ll climb!_

_You gotta die_

_sometime._

_You gotta die sometime._

_You gotta die sometime-_

_sometime-_

_some-_

Jaskier's voice finally failed him, breaths coming too fast to sing more than one word at a time.

He let his arms fall to his sides, giving in to the force pulling him down, down, down.

There was a voice in his ear, but he couldn’t concentrate enough to make any sense out of it. His eyes crossed, and for some reason, he saw two half-there Geralt's.

 _How fitting_ , he thought bitterly.

The Geralts' arm came toward him, merging into one, and grasped his chin with near-bruising force.

He felt his face screw up, and he somehow managed to force more words out. “Ger-? You’re- really here?”

The hand gripping his chin shifted to cup his cheek in its palm. “Jaskier, you have to stay awake. What’s happening? What-” Geralt tried to find answers in their surroundings, but came up empty.

 _He must not even know what hanahaki_ is.

“Why’re you- here?”

If Jaskier's heart hadn’t already been shattered by the man before him, it’d be breaking at Geralt's expression.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry. I knew as I was saying it, I didn’t mean a damn word. You’re the best fucking thing in my life, and I’m so sorry for pushing you away. You didn’t deserve that. ‘Soon as I realized what I’d done, I came to apologize. But, what’s happening to you? How can I help?”

Jaskier squinted, but Geralt looked and sounded completely sincere.

He sighed. “Nothing- you can do. Been too late- for me- for a couple- months, now.”

“Months? This has been going on for _months?_ Why- Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

A bitter laugh got caught between the full blooms of buttercups.

“Jus’ said. Nothin’ you can do. Bu’ hey, ‘least I’ll be off- your hands soon!”

Geralt's other hand came up to frame his face, touching him with a tenderness that had never been directed toward him before.

“No, no _no._ Jaskier- I didn’t _mean_ it! I _never_ meant it!” Were those tears shining in his eyes? Impossible, he'd never seen Geralt cry in all their years together. “You’re- It’s- Ughh why are words so fucking _hard?_ I love you, Jaskier!”

_Huh?_

“Wha’?”

Jaskier desperately wanted it to be true, but wasn’t sure he believed it.

“I just- I never let myself mull over my feelings for you. Sure you annoy me sometimes, but not _nearly_ as much as I pretend. I miss your voice, your laugh, whenever we part. I think about you damn near _constantly_. Please, _please_ believe me, Jaskier. I never want to leave your side again. I promise I’ll do better, treat you better. You deserve so much fucking more than what I’ve been to you.”

_He-_

_Really loves me?_

_Huh._

Jaskier's laugh this time was a true one. “You pick- _now?_ To be so- so fucking _voluble?”_

Geralt chuckled through his tears. “Enjoy it while it lasts, bard.”

But, of course, this wonderful moment just _had_ to be interrupted by another round of choking.

As he leaned over, Geralt was surprisingly present. He kept him steady with one hand, the other stroking softly through his hair. You could almost say, _lovingly_.

Five very long, very painful minutes and four flowers later, Jaskier could actually breathe easier.

_Oh my gods._

He cackled manically through the—steadily _slowing_ —trickle of blood from his mouth.

“Jaskier? Jaskier, what-”

“Well, Geralt.” _Even terrified, he’s gorgeous. Not the point—focus._ “It seems there _was_ something you could do.”

Ignoring Geralt's mystified spluttering, Jaskier finally had the breath to properly explain.

“You’ve never heard of hanahaki disease, have you?”

There was a slight _click_ as Geralt shut his hanging mouth, and shook his head dumbly.

“It’s when you love someone very deeply, more than anything, but they don’t love you back. It was some curse, millennia ago, where flowers would grow in your lungs until you either fell out of love for that person, they genuinely loved you back, or you died.”

Geralt's face fell and he slowly took his hands away from Jaskier. “Oh. Then- you must have- just now stopped loving her?”

Jaskier stared at the absolute idiot before him. “Geralt. My darling, _dearest_ Witcher. I _implore you_ to think about this for more than two seconds.”

A blank stare.

“Really? Geralt, I love _you_ , you absolute idiot! It’s because you made me believe you love me _back_ that I’m not dying anymore.”

After a second, Geralt face crumpled even more.

 _Oh dear Melitele, what has he assumed_ now?

“So you’re saying. I did this to you? I-”

“No! Geralt, this was not your fault! Well, I guess you could have not waited until the last second to confess, but I don’t blame you! Please don’t blame yourself, I won’t stand for it. We’ll be okay now, that’s all that matters.”

They were silent for a while, simply taking in this newfound information until-

Geralt cleared his throat. “Can- may I-” He sighed. “I’d like to set up camp somewhere nearby, let you rest for a bit. If- Can- I’d like to- stay. With you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Oh _darling_ , of course I want you to stay!”

He nodded, looking away sheepishly. “I’ll just- go get Roach. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

As Geralt left, a though flitted across Jaskier's mind.

_What if he doesn’t come back?_

_No_. He immediately dismissed the idea. It seemed Geralt would be around more than usual now. _I trust him. I believe him._

Sure enough, Geralt was back within a few minutes, Roach in tow.

“Do you think you could stand, with help? I could carry you, if that’d be better.”

Oh, his dear Geralt, so flustered now. Jaskier took stock of his body, tested the strength in his legs. He guessed he _could_ (mostly) support himself. But what was the fun in that? He held his arms up. “Carry me?”

Geralt was overly cautious as he picked him up bridal-style. He was even kind enough not to mention the awkwardness of holding a bard who’s holding a lute. But Jaskier wasn’t about to say a damn _word_ to end this newfound affection. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Geralt's neck, leaning in closer to better breathe in his scent.

Luckily, there was a wonderful little clearing nearby. Jaskier was placed back on the ground, then helped onto a bedroll, and he didn’t care that his face had begun to ache with how large his smile had grown.

Soon enough, they had a toasty fire to keep them warm. But Jaskier _also_ had a beautiful Witcher wrapped around him, so it almost wasn’t needed.

As the embers glowed and shimmered in the cool night air, Jaskier twisted around to face Geralt, both on their sides with their bedrolls nearly on top of each other.

“Geralt?”

His only response was a hum, Geralt being too busy staring at his mouth to think in words.

“Can I kiss you?”

In an instant, Jaskier was looking into those golden eyes he loved so much. “ _Please_ ,” Geralt breathed.

Jaskier shifted closer, giving Geralt enough time to change his mind, and their lips met in the softest damn kiss he’d ever had.

He felt him sigh, and rolled them so Geralt was below him.

“Still okay?” he asked.

Geralt's eyes opened slowly, and Jaskier smiled at his amazed expression. “Huh?”

A giggle bubbled out of Jaskier and he absolutely _had_ to kiss Geralt again.

And there they stayed, pressed together from head to toe, until they fell asleep listening to each other’s heartbeat.

Even after the first few rays of golden sun lit up the clearing, they stayed, taking the time to learn everything they thought they’d never be able to.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
